'Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, thro' the light Of the brighter, cold moon. 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the heavens, Her beam on the waves I gaz'd awhile On her cold smile; Too cold-too cold for me- There pass'd as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turn'd away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light. - Evening Star, Edgar Allan Poe